“……………”
While she was in her room, lost in thought and doing nothing in particular, Jack came, bringing one of Oswald’s hairs and a report of victory.
Lacie told him:
“I changed my mind. I don’t want to go out.”
Coldly, brusquely, with no compunction. In response to her refusal, Jack said:
“I see. Then we won’t.”
He spoke without hesitation. He wore an innocent, honest, charming smile.
…Just as he had when he’d answered Oswald.
“What if my sister says she doesn’t want to go? What will you do then?”
“Then this never happened, of course.”
The words hadn’t held the faintest flicker of regret.
For a moment, Lacie looked at Jack with an expression of pity. It soon disappeared, however, and she chased him away, saying, “I’m tired, and I’m going to rest.” Jack agreed meekly to this as well, and left the room.
As the door closed on the words “Take care,” Lacie got up from the sofa where she’d been sitting and fell facedown across the bed.
What is this, anyway? she thought.
Leave the grounds of the Baskerville mansion with Jack.
When Levi had said, “I told him it was all right for the two of you to go on an outing. You and Jack.” When Jack had told her, “I’ll take you outside.” Lacie had thought, That would be all right. When she imagined what it would be like if it happened, she thought it was a decent idea as far as ways to kill time went. She’d thought it sounded like fun.
At the same time, she’d felt the black haze inside her grow.
What is this? she thought, with her face buried in the soft coverlet.
Lacie moved her head restlessly, glancing at the door Jack had gone out through. No matter how long she looked at it, it didn’t open again. Lacie’s eyes stayed on the door, and her gaze betrayed no emotion.
She simply kept watching.
It had been decided that, in the near future, she would vanish from this world.
In a little while—not now, not yet—she would learn the identity of this feeling that had taken root inside her heart for the first time.
The feeling called “loneliness.”
…Honestly. If Nii-sama hadn’t gone and lost—
Lacie thought, venting her anger elsewhere for no good reason.
THE NEXT MORNING.
Having sat down to breakfast alone, Oswald glanced at the table and fell silent.
In front of him sat a large dish. There they were, in that dish, piled up majestically, like a mountain.
Bright-red, fresh…cherry tomatoes. And nothing else.
That was all the breakfast that had been prepared for him. A mountain of cherry tomatoes that brooked no argument. It was a type of monstrosity.
“……What is this?” Oswald asked the server, dispassionately.
The server explained desperately, with an air that seemed to insist he wasn’t to blame:
“G-Glen-sama ordered it. Lacie-sama asked him to, or so I’m told. He said to give you all the cherry tomatoes we had for breakfast today, and nothing else. We knew you didn’t like them, so we were disconcerted as well, but we couldn’t disobey the master’s orders—”
“Enough. I understand.”
Oswald raised a hand, silencing the server, and dismissed him. Alone, once again, he stared…
At the mountain of cherry tomatoes.
“…………………………”
He gazed at them for a while.
Then, with his usual reticence, at least superficially, he spoke.
“Have I done something to anger my sister?”
~ Fin ~
—Someone, somewhere, would die again tonight.
At night, the town was submerged in terror.
When the bell in the clock tower struck ten, all the passersby vanished, and no light escaped the tightly locked houses.
The whole town trembled in fear. Fear of the shapeless killer who arrived with the night.
“Now, then.”
Quietly, the detective, Ivel, began to speak to the person he’d invited to his office:
“Our man is elusive, and he looks different every time he appears. Unfortunately, at this point, we have only one clue to set us on the murderer’s track.”
With a sour expression, the guest—Police Captain Darius—asked:
“What clue might that be?”
“It’s…a pair of black leather gloves.”
—FRUIT OF UNCERTAINTY, BY EVIL B.
1
It was a windy night.
A room in Pandora Headquarters. Gilbert Nightray stood by the window of his master Oz Vessalius’s bedroom, looking up at the night sky. “The clouds are moving fast,” he muttered.
There was a full moon that night, but its light kept being eclipsed by the black clouds passing in front of it. When he turned his gaze to the courtyard, he saw that the branches of the several trees planted there were tossing wildly in the wind. The pitch-black silhouettes of the trees swayed right, then left, scattering leaves.
In contrast, the room was quiet.
He could hear the window rattling softly as the wind struck it. The faint, regular sound of pages being turned also reached his ears.
Gilbert turned.
From a table in the center of the room, the light of a silver candelabra softly illuminated the interior.
Gilbert was looking at Oz, who was sitting in a chair by the table, absorbed in a book.
Oz’s legs were crossed, and he held a thick volume on his lap. He had one hand to his chin, and he seemed to be brooding as he silently followed the text.
Sometimes he’d touch his hair, but his eyes never left the book. As his hand turned the pages, the motion was so mechanical that it seemed almost unconscious.
His concentration is fantastic, as always.
Gilbert broke into a tiny smile, as if he was impressed. …But.
“Oz.”
He knew he’d be interrupting Oz’s reading, but Gilbert spoke to him anyway. Oz didn’t respond.
Gilbert glanced at the tabletop. A white ceramic teacup sat there, close enough for Oz to reach if he put out his hand. The tea Gilbert had poured half an hour ago was stone cold.
…Oz hadn’t taken a single sip.
With a brief sigh, Gilbert said, “Oz” again, raising his voice a little.
As expected, there was no response.
This time, Gilbert kept speaking without waiting for a reaction.
“It’s late. You should save the rest for tomorrow and get some sleep.”
At that, after a pause, Oz said, “Nn……” It probably counted as a reply of sorts.
However, Oz kept his eyes on the open book, and he didn’t raise his head. There was no change in the way he turned the pages, either.
Gilbert’s shoulders slumped slightly. He left the window and walked over to Oz.
“Oz.”
“Nn…”
“It’s cold at night. You should get in bed.”
“Nn.”
“You can read the rest tomorrow, you know.”
“…Nn—”
“This is going nowhere,” Gilbert sighed to himself.
Oz was responding, barely, but the responses were clearly absentminded, and his heart wasn’t in them. His mind was deep in the world of the book. Gilbert remembered how Oz had come running up to him that evening, hugging a book to his chest.
“Elliot loaned it to me.”
As he spoke, Oz’s expression had been indescribably happy.
Elliot Nightray.
He was Gilbert’s younger foster brother, one year older than Oz.
Possibly because their first meeting had gone poorly, he and Oz had been on bad terms for a while, but by now they’d warmed up to each other significantly. Oz seemed pleased to have made a friend his own age. Gilbert thought it was a good thing, too.
Oz was probably reading the book so enthu
siastically not just because it was interesting, but because he wanted to finish it quickly so that he could talk about it with his friend.
Gilbert wanted to respect those feelings, but…
“Oz,” he called again, raising his voice even further, trying to drag Oz’s mind back to reality.
For his part, Gilbert wouldn’t have minded standing here beside his master as he read, waiting until he finished his book.
On the contrary, he’d consider that time very pleasant indeed.
However.
It’s going to be cold tonight. If he stays up late and makes himself sick…
Once he’d thought that, as a valet, he couldn’t just let this slide.
However, the only responses Gilbert’s calls provoked were listless, absentminded, and vague.
He hesitated, but, deciding there was no help for it, Gilbert steeled himself:
“Oz, read the rest tomorrow.”
He stretched out an arm and took the book from Oz’s hands, giving him no chance to argue. “Ah—” A small cry escaped Oz, as if he’d come to his senses. He blinked as though he had no idea what had happened, then turned disgruntled eyes on Gilbert.
“What are you doing, Gil? I’m at a good part.”
“You can read it tomorrow. It’s not like you have to return it right away.”
“I’m the type who reads things in one sitting!”
“No. What are you going to do if you chill yourself and catch a cold?”
Speaking very plainly and carefully, Gilbert put the ribbon bookmark between the pages, then closed the book. He set it gently on the table. Oz sulked.
Generally, except for practical books on cooking and making tea, Gilbert wasn’t in the habit of reading.
As a result, he wasn’t particularly interested, but his eyes absently skimmed over the book’s leather cover. He read the letters stamped on it. The title, and the name of the author.
Fruit of Uncertainty, by Evil B.
No doubt it was a pen name, but “Evil”… That meant “harmful.” It sounded like a name that was terribly proud of its vices.
He was a bit concerned about the content, but if Elliot had recommended it, it wasn’t likely to be indecent. As he thought this, Gilbert made Oz—who still wanted to keep reading—get up from his chair and, with some difficulty, bundled him into bed.
Having burrowed under the down comforter, Oz had poked his face halfway out of the covers and was looking at the book as if he hated to be parted from it.
Watching him out of the corner of his eye, Gilbert turned to the table and blew out the candles in the candelabra.
Immediately, the room was swallowed by darkness.
The moonlight shone unsteadily into the room, broken by clouds.
In the darkness, he heard Oz stir and mutter a soft “Tch!” He turned a flat, eloquent gaze on Gilbert. Gilbert gave a small, wry smile, then left the table, walking toward the door.
In front of the door, he turned back to the bed and spoke in a calm voice:
“Good night, Oz. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night,” Oz said, grudgingly.
With that voice in his ears, Gilbert set his hand on the knob, opened the door, and went out into the corridor. Perhaps because the hour was after midnight, it was deserted. Few of the lights in the rows of wall sconces were lit, and the corridor was submerged in the atmosphere of night.
With his back to the door to Oz’s bedroom, Gilbert tried to remember whether there was anything he needed to do before he went to bed.
He’d finished all the practical duties he had here at Pandora, and he couldn’t think of anything else that was urgent. At the rented apartment where he lived by himself in the older area of Reveil, the capital, there were lots of chores that had to be done before he slept, but while he was living at Pandora, there was nothing.
Maybe I should go back once in a while…
He hadn’t even been by to air out the room lately. Things were probably getting pretty dusty.
Next time, he thought, absently, he’d at least go back and clean the place.
Then.
“!”
Gilbert, who’d been standing and thinking with his back to the door to Oz’s room for a few moments, swiftly turned and opened the door.
Moonlight was streaming into the room.
“……?! G-Gil?”
“…………Oz.”
Oz had slipped out of bed and was standing at the table. He had a match in his hand and had been just about to light a candle.
Naturally, the book he’d borrowed from Elliot was tucked under his arm.
The abruptly opening door and the sight of Gilbert had startled Oz. He flinched, straightening up, and froze.
I knew it…
Muttering to himself, Gilbert heaved a long sigh. Oz looked uncomfortable, like a little kid caught in the act of playing a prank. He returned the book to the table and got back into bed. …Grumbling to himself as he did so.
Oz crawled back under the covers and lay there in the dark, looking up at the ceiling and muttering softly. Well…it really was a good part.
Fruit of Uncertainty. The book Elliot had loaned him. The name of the author had been a bit off-putting, but the story was fantastic.
It had been a long time since he’d read a book that had thrilled him so much. Set in the rough old town of an imaginary city, it was a story about a showdown between a detective and a mysterious killer. One man who committed a series of murders using artistic methods, and another who was tracking him down with brilliant reasoning.
Just remembering it made his heart leap, and the excitement flooded back.
……Okay, Oz thought, under the covers.
He’d gotten out of bed too soon last time.
He’d needed to wait at least five, no, ten minutes. Yes, he should have waited until he was sure Gilbert had really gone back to his own room before he got out of bed. Oz held still, listening carefully. Was Gilbert still out in the corridor, keeping an eye on him?
Since this was the second time, Oz was particularly careful: He stayed in bed for thirty minutes without moving a muscle.
Sure that Gilbert must have gone back to his room by then, Oz quietly slipped out of bed. Being particularly wary regarding the area around the door, he approached the table, then returned to the bed, holding the book and the candelabra. He set the candelabra on the shelf by the bed, lit it with a match, and got back under the covers, hugging the book.
Pushing aside a big feather pillow, he lay down on his stomach and opened the book to where he’d left off. He gave an involuntarily huff of excitement.
In a moment, Oz was pulled into the world of the book.
By the time he turned the last page, the sky outside the window was tinged with morning light. Even after he’d finished reading, he couldn’t lift his head from the book right away.
Even as he knew he’d have to put the book and candelabra back on the table or Gilbert would scold him when he came to wake him up, Oz’s mind was drifting into a pleasant sleep. Then, as he lay on his stomach, dozing, with the closed book at his side…
Oz made a resolution.
2
MORNING, ONE WEEK LATER.
“Go shopping? Now? Right away?”
It was after breakfast. Gilbert, who’d been making tea in Oz’s room, blinked at the words he’d just heard, responding with questions.
“Right.” Oz nodded.
There were three people in the room at the moment: Oz, Gilbert, and Alice, who’d appropriated the bed and was asleep. She might have been dreaming about eating: She had a cheerful expression on her face and was gnawing at the pillow. They’d probably have to send it out later to be laundered.
Oz, who was sitting on the sofa, looked up at Gilbert. He was smiling happily.
Gilbert had been about to tilt the teapot, but he hesitated and thought a little.
“Oz. Let me make sure I’ve got this right. You don’t mean…you want to send somebod
y out shopping for you?”
“Of course not. I’m going, on my own.”
“I see,” Gilbert answered. Gazing into space, he mentally ran over the day’s schedule.
Fortunately, they didn’t have any pressing business just now.
As long as it didn’t take too much time, simply going shopping wouldn’t be much of a problem, Gilbert concluded. He nodded once. He resumed pouring tea into the teacup, then held it out to Oz.
“All right. Wait just a bit, Oz. I’ll go get ready.”
“……Get ready?”
Oz looked puzzled.
“I just need to grab my coat. I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, you won’t need that.”
“I won’t? I suppose it is pretty warm today, but…”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m going by myself.”
Oz tossed off that line lightly but firmly. Gilbert couldn’t process what he’d said.
“You don’t have to come, Gil.”
Gilbert still couldn’t understand what he’d just heard.
“And you’d better not follow me. I mean it.”
As Oz delivered that declaration with a million-watt smile, Gilbert’s mouth hung open.
The street’s official name was Dodgson Street, but practically no one called it that.
It was a wide road that ran through the old part of town, a neighborhood inhabited mostly by common folk in a corner of Reveil, the capital. It was a jumble of all sorts of shops—groceries, sundries shops, secondhand clothing stores—lined up without any rhyme or reason.
The people who lived in Old Town called the road something else:
Hodgepodge Street.
The place certainly wasn’t well-disciplined. It was overflowing with things and crowded with people, and as a result, trouble broke out many times every day.
However, the street single-handedly supplied the common folk with food, clothing, and shelter. From cheap items of good quality to expensive items of poor quality, it was safe to say there was nothing the street didn’t have. Day in and day out, it bestowed its blessings on everyone, from babes in arms to the elderly.
A place that was equally open to absolutely anyone, even to nobles— That was Hodgepodge Street.
“Wow…”
Oz stood at the entrance to Hodgepodge Street. It was just after eleven o’clock, almost lunchtime; the street bustled with people and was filled with clamor and noise. Surrounded by the dense heat and smell of the crowd, Oz breathed deeply.
PandoraHearts ~Caucus Race~, Vol. 3 Page 4